


Christmas in California

by lostnoise



Series: Winter Wonderland [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Angst, Christmas traditions, Definitely Not Whump, First Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, Stupid Boys, Traditions, but a lot of emotions and feelings, is silly angst a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28325676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostnoise/pseuds/lostnoise
Summary: Christmas in California is… different.There’s no snow, first of all. Steve’s used to the first snowfall being as early as October, sometimes even September when there’s an especially cold, wet front from one of the Great Lakes. There’s usually a fine layer of snow, at the very least, on Christmas Day if it’s not snowing in thick clumps. It really gives the winter ambiance a level up. Makes cuddling on the couch next to a fire with a cup of cocoa almost mandatory because the coziness is irresistible. Steve’s only done that one time in his life, though, with Nancy, because his parents had been in New York to celebrate Christmas without him.So, no snow? Very weird.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Winter Wonderland [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061786
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59





	Christmas in California

**Author's Note:**

> My friends and I spoke very briefly about a Christmas collection but with the holiday fic swap taking up a LOT of time, we decided not to. However the prompt was “first Christmas” and I chose to write about Steve’s first Christmas in California! This is the last of my Christmas fics.
> 
> I want to thank Anna (the good and well-loved heck-in-a-handbasket) for her suggestions for warm Christmastime things to do and ways to celebrate. You were an amazing help with this story!

Christmas in California is… different. 

There’s no snow, first of all. Steve’s used to the first snowfall being as early as October, sometimes even September when there’s an especially cold, wet front from one of the Great Lakes. There’s usually a fine layer of snow, at the very least, on Christmas Day if it’s not snowing in thick clumps. It really gives the winter ambiance a level up. Makes cuddling on the couch next to a fire with a cup of cocoa almost mandatory because the coziness is irresistible. Steve’s only done that one time in his life, though, with Nancy, because his parents had been in New York to celebrate Christmas without him.

So, no snow? Very weird.

The second thing that’s different, adjacent to there being no snow, is that it’s so warm. Sure, people wear hoodies and jeans and complain about the breeze being too cool, but the weather is nothing compared to the freezing temperatures of Indiana in December. Steve had packed his sweaters, thinking maybe he’d get use out of them, if not his winter jacket, but so far, Steve hasn’t needed anything thicker than long sleeves.

Warm weather means hot cocoa is useless. There’s no need to warm up with a cup of it.

The positive side is that people still decorate in the classic ways - icicle lights hanging from railings, big red bows, fake candles in the windows. There’s a nativity set in the yard at the end of their block, the kind that lights up.

Everyone still eats the same Christmas fare; Steve buys a turkey, and ingredients to make stuffing from his grandfather’s recipe, and potatoes, and cranberry sauce, the jelly kind in the can. Steve loves that stuff, no matter how much his parents always would scrunch their noses up when he devoured it at family gatherings, few as they were.

But the thing that hits Steve in the gut is when it’s the week of Christmas and he comes home wrestling a tree that’s half-dried out already and spraying needles everywhere. He walks in the door of the apartment he shares with Billy, the apartment they’ve lived in since May, and Billy’s on the couch reading. He’s got his glasses on, the ones he pretends his doesn’t need. And his nose scrunches up in distaste.

“Man, that thing is gonna be a pain in the ass,” Billy snips, shutting his book with a resounding thud.

He puts it on the beat up coffee table Steve thrifted from a yard sale back in June when they had little to no furniture to speak of, but some money to spare from their new jobs. They’d had the basics at that point; a bed and dresser in the single bedroom, a couch and TV in the living room, a tiny table with one chair in the kitchen. Billy crosses his arms over his chest.

“You’re gonna have to vacuum every day,” Billy continues. “And you’ll have to water it. Damn, Steve, why didn’t you ask me to go with you? I would have picked one that doesn’t look half dead.”

And it hits him in the gut that Billy might not like Christmas at all. He didn’t want to help Steve decorate the apartment. He didn’t want to give any ideas for Christmas dinner. And now he didn’t even like the tree Steve picked. The one he spent a good hour trying to find because it was the fullest option and looked the best, surprisingly, of the three lots Steve visited.

Because Steve loves Christmas. He loves giving presents. He loves watching the tree on Christmas Eve sparkling with lights and ornaments. He loves driving around to see Christmas lights and decorated houses.

He stands there in the doorway with his arms around the ugly Christmas tree and feels every ounce of stupidity that he’s ever been accused of. He clenches his jaw against the urge to cry and looks away instead, still not replying to Billy’s non-question.

This is his first Christmas in California and all he wanted was a little bit of his own traditions to celebrate.

He shoves the tree away to fall into the hallway. It’s an open walk up with a railing on the upper levels. Steve bristles as he watches the needles fall to the floor.

“I’m going out,” Steve snaps into the apartment before slamming the door and walking to his car.

He slides into the driver’s seat and wraps his fingers around the steering wheel tightly. His eyes sting and he squeezes them shut against the threat of tears. 

All he wants is the little bit of comfort that Christmas always gives him. Even when his parents weren’t around for it, even when he’d bounce from relative to relative, friend to friend, Christmas was always the one time of year he could count on the same things. Snow, cold, and hot drinks to warm him up. Sweaters and Christmas lights. A Christmas tree.

California has nothing to comfort him, not even the man he’d left his home for. The one he’d moved with halfway across the country, drove down highways with too much caffeine in their systems and their hands twined tightly to rest on Billy’s thigh, even when Steve was driving. California is big and it’s loud and it’s hot, hotter than Steve is used to. The summer was like hell and he’d come out of it with more sunburns than he’d ever gotten in his whole life up to that point.

Steve rests his forehead against the wheel and a couple of tears slip out.

He’d really thought that this year would be different. That he’d have someone to do all the things that made him feel loved and wanted. The things Nancy kept him at an arm’s length for, never quite got close enough to warm Steve’s heart completely. And it’s felt cold this holiday season, despite the warm weather.

Steve is twenty-three and it took four years for Billy and him to get this far. But his hopes for a nice Christmas seem to be shriveling up into dust. He might as well drive to the beach to scatter it amongst the waves, right?

He’s startled from his thoughts by a loud noise against his window. He glances over and there stands Billy, mouth set into a grim line. Steve’s embarrassed by the state of himself, so he starts rubbing at his face as if that would hide the tear tracks or his swollen cheeks or his red-rimmed eyes. He takes a breath and rolls down the window.

“Yeah?” Steve chews on his lower lip, unable to meet Billy’s eyes.

God, he shouldn’t have left like that. He’s an idiot. _Bullshit._ And now Billy had a front row seat to his Bullshit Show.

“What’s wrong?” Billy asks, and when Steve looks at him, his face is as soft as his tone of voice.

And he doesn’t ask what’s wrong with _Steve._ Like he knows something’s going on and it’s not necessarily Steve’s fault.

It means more to him than he can put into words.

Still, he doesn’t exactly want to admit to it. He’s still embarrassed by leaving so abruptly. Throwing a tantrum, it feels like.

 _You’re a fucking brat,_ his dad’s voice screams in his head. _An ungrateful, lazy brat._

“Nothing,” Steve says, ducking his head and looking at his lap. His hands twist at the bottom of his t-shirt. Christmas is in four days and he’s wearing a goddamn t-shirt. There’s something very wrong about this. “I’m sorry for leaving like that.” Steve inhales and gives Billy an unstable smile, shaky at the edges. “I’ll get rid of the tree tonight. Won’t have to worry about getting pine needles everywhere.”

Billy braces his forearms atop the car and leans down so his head is level with Steve’s. Ocean-blue eyes gaze at him and Steve feels stripped bare under their intensity. He goes to look away again but Billy reaches out to cup his cheek.

“You really like Christmas, don’t you?” Billy asks, voice low and quiet like he’s working out a puzzle in his head.

Steve just shrugs in response. Looks up at the curls falling across Billy’s forehead, then past his face to the night sky behind him.

“I guess,” he finally mumbles once Billy’s successfully waited him out. Steve always crumbles in the face of silence.

“It’s important to you?”

“Billy, can’t we just forget about it?” Steve huffs and turns his head out of Billy’s hand. He doesn’t need to be coddled while Billy teases him, doesn’t need a soft touch while Billy brings him down. Somehow that’s even worst. “I’ll get rid of the tree and the decorations and I’ll make the turkey tomorrow or, like, I can donate it if you don’t like turkey-”

“I like turkey,” Billy cuts in. Steve sniffs, looking out the front window. Hands at 10 and 2 on the wheel. “I don’t want you to get rid of the decorations or the tree or any of that. Why didn’t you tell me it was so important to you?”

“Christmas is, like, important to most people,” Steve says, shrugging. “Except for Jewish people. Or Muslim people. Or, probably Buddhists and Hindus too, and-”

“But it’s _really_ important to you,” Billy emphasizes the words. He leans back away from the window and reaches down to tug on the handle of the door to swing it open and he gestures for Steve to get out of the car. “C’mon. I don’t wanna have this talk here.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Steve asks, voice cracking halfway through the sentence.

Billy stands there with his mouth dropped open in surprise, eyes wide, and splutters out his reply. “What? No! Steve, I love you. I’m not going to break up with you four days before Christmas.”

“How should I know?! You’re the one who hates Christmas!”

“I don’t hate Christmas!” Billy snaps, eyes flashing dangerously, and Steve shuts his mouth with a loud click. The blonde hunches forward, contrite by his reaction, and sighs. “I don’t hate Christmas. Just… haven’t really had good memories of it. My mom left right before Christmas.”

Steve’s stomach falls out through his ass. He feels so shitty for pushing. For being a brat about a holiday Billy has a very good reason to hate. He bites his lip.

“I don’t want to talk about it out here, okay Steve?” Billy pleads, holding a hand out for his boyfriend to take. “C’mon. Let’s go back into the apartment.”

Steve hesitantly curls his fingers around Billy’s and lets the other man help haul him up and out of the car before Billy shuts the door behind him. _Kind of gentlemanly,_ Steve’s mind provides. Billy waits for Steve to lock the car before he presses his hand to the small of Steve’s back to lead them back up to their apartment.

They both ignore the trembling in both of their hands. Steve avoids looking at the Christmas tree laying in a pile of shed needles, despondent and neglected in the hallway right outside their door.

Stepping around the tree, Steve walks into their apartment and into the living room. Billy’s book is on the table, thick-lensed glasses folded up next to it.

Steve takes in the holiday decorations all around the apartment and thinks about the way Billy’s shoulders had steadily climbed up to his ears with each new Christmas item he brought home. Like the little Santa statue by the front door, or the Santa hat Steve bought on a whim, or the reindeer centerpiece on the kitchen table. The garland he’d carefully arranged on the windowsills around the fake candles glowing yellow-white. The fake holly. Even the stupid little bobble-headed elves Steve set up on his dresser in their bedroom.

He’s trying to take stock of everything he’ll need to pull down and put into boxes to take to the thrift store over on Main when a pair of thick arms wrap around him and pull him back against Billy’s warm, wide chest. Steve’s eyes flutter shut against a wave of sadness - for Billy, and for himself. Billy trembles behind him, and Steve raises a hand to cover one of Billy’s pressed to his stomach.

“I love you,” Billy tells him, voice uncharacteristically soft as breath brushes across his ear. Steve takes a shaky breath. “I love you so much, Steve. I’m sorry I didn’t just- fucking- just talk to you. Like a normal person.”

“We’re not very normal,” Steve comments, laughing wetly with his eyes still squeezed shut. “It’s okay. I told you, I can take the decorations down and I’ll get rid of the tree-”

“My mom left on Christmas Eve,” Billy chokes out, burying his face in the back of Steve’s neck. “She used to put up a nativity set every year. My dad took me out back and made me break every single piece of it and that was the first time he hit me. Slapped me right across the face for crying.”

Steve can’t breathe.

“Christmas was always the worst time of the year for me.” Billy rubs his face against Steve, sniffling so softly that Steve almost doesn’t hear the noise. “There were all these traditions that went out the window for years, you know? And then when Neil started dating Susan, and Max came into the picture, things got a little better. But they had all these traditions that made me feel like it’d be better if I weren’t around.”

His hold on Billy’s hand tightens. It’s as much encouragement for Billy as it is grounding for himself.

“Christmas just wasn’t important anymore. But… then you came into my life.”

Steve chokes on a laugh, something dry and unfeeling. “Billy, we don’t even have to celebrate it if you don’t w-”

“Stop putting words into my mouth,” Billy growls. If Steve weren’t an emotional mess, he’d probably be turned on. “I… I’m trying to say… that I do want to. Celebrate.” He clears his throat and presses the softest kiss to the back of Steve’s neck. It makes him shiver in the cage of Billy’s arms. “I want to, with you. I’m sorry for snapping at you when you came in.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before I started throwing up Christmas on our apartment,” Steve offers, squeezing Billy’s hand and turning around to face him. There are tear tracks on his cheeks and Steve reaches up to swipe away the wetness. Thankfully, Steve didn’t let any of his tears fall past his eyelashes, which are damp and clumped together. “We can always make our own traditions.”

“Yeah?” Billy says hopefully, bringing Steve in closer, wrapping him up tighter.

“And keep the traditions we like,” Steve offers, and when Billy’s small smile lights up his face, Steve can’t help but smile back. “What… what did you and your mom used to do?”

“Christmas mass at midnight,” he replies, wrinkling his face in displeasure. “We used to hang lights. We had a fake tree because the trees in California come from Oregon and Washington so they were more expensive and didn’t last as long.” Billy glances over his shoulder for a short moment at the door, probably thinking of the tree Steve left outside, before Steve curls his fingers into Billy’s shirt and he tugs gently to get the blonde’s attention again. “Um. We used to go for walks to see everyone’s lights.”

“So… what things do you not like?” Steve asks, trying to figure out a middle ground between Billy’s aversion to traditional Christmastime and his own love of it.

Billy licks his lips and shrugs.

“Real trees,” he admits. “Neil used to get the biggest, gaudiest one every year and I had to vacuum and water it every day. They smell good but after the third year where he’d smash an ornament on my head if I dropped it by accident, I stopped liking the smell so much.” He sniffs again, let wet this time but just as trapped in the memories. “I don’t like Santa. Neil doesn’t do Santa. And I think Santa and his elves are creepy.”

Steve kind of loves the elf bobble-heads and the Santa hat, but he figures he can take them to work and leave them on his desk.

He can adjust.

Despite loving everything to do with Christmas, Steve can adjust if it means making Billy more comfortable and less withdrawn and less on edge every time Steve comes home.

“But… I like the snowflakes,” Billy admits shyly, his cheeks turning pink. Steve’s eyes dart over to the window where he’s hung glittery white snowflakes from the curtain rod. “And I like hot cocoa. And I like turkey and cranberry jelly.”

“You do?” Steve asks, his eyes widening, because his parents hated it.

“Yes.” Billy kisses the tip of Steve’s nose, making Steve laugh despite everything. “And I like having you here. I like hearing you hum Christmas songs when you’re doing things around the house even when you’re not playing music. It’s… it’s fucking cute, honestly.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to hide his blush.

“We can compromise,” Billy continues, dropping his hands to Steve’s hips. Squeezing him. “We can find things just for us.”

“Okay,” Steve smiles slowly, looking down at Billy. He takes in the blue eyes and the defined curls and the shirt he wears, a ratty old Scorpions tee. Takes in the smile on Billy’s face as he gazes right back, chin tilted up, and Steve leans in for a kiss.

This is all that matters to him - spending time with the one he loves for the holiday.

When Billy pulls back, he mumbles against Steve’s lips, “Let’s start with throwing that tree in the garbage.”

They throw the tree away.

And the next night, they go for a walk through their neighborhood and the surrounding neighborhoods to look at all the lights on display. Steve gets ideas for when they can afford a house of their own, maybe a little row home up north in San Francisco. It’s idealistic, because San Francisco is expensive as fuck, but since their talk, Steve lets himself dream of all the things he wants for their life together.

And the next afternoon, Steve comes home to find a tall sheet of paper hung on the wall with a cartoonish pine tree drawn onto it in green and brown marker. There’s ribbon taped to it, a glittery star ornament pinned at the very top, and a few poorly wrapped boxes underneath. He loves it, and adds his own gifts to the pile, no less poorly wrapped, but with different paper.

Steve makes the turkey on Christmas Eve, twisting together aluminum foil to create a makeshift roasting pan, and packs them a little picnic to take to the beach the next afternoon.

On Christmas morning, Billy turns the air conditioning up on high until they’re curled under blankets in front of their fake tree. Steve can’t keep the smile off his face when Billy hands him a steaming mug of hot cocoa and they open their gifts on the floor like they’re kids again, giggling with each gift revealed.

Steve got Billy a new pair of sunglasses, a new pair of converse, and the expensive watch Billy had been eyeing up every time they passed the store for the last three months.

Billy got Steve a leather jacket, soft and supple and black with a simple collar and zipper. But Steve knows how much this must have cost Billy. It’ll be perfect for the Southern California nights.

They finish up their hot cocoa and share soft kisses before Steve nips at Billy’s lower lip.

“Shower and then picnic?”

Billy grins and nods.

It’s cold enough down by the water that he can get away with wearing a sweater, coaxes Billy into wearing one too. They leave their shoes at the car and walk through the sand hand-in-hand, Billy carrying a blanket under one arm and Steve carrying the picnic basket in his other hand. They argue lightheartedly about the best location to set up their blanket, and when they finally flop down, Steve can’t help how he grins over at Billy.

“New tradition?” Steve asks, reaching out to slide their fingers together. He squeezes gently and Billy glances over at him. Billy looks so light, so happy, and Steve’s heart starts to pick up in his chest.

“New tradition,” Billy affirms, raising Steve’s hand to his mouth. He presses soft kisses to Steve’s knuckles. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“Merry Christmas, Billy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and/or kudos would be awesome!!


End file.
